Lana lived down the street from me when I was little. She has been outgoing ever since our first introduction to one another. I wore a pink tutu and she wore a superwoman outfit. She would climb the tallest tree, swing higher than gravity should allow, and confront playground bullies without hesitation. I will admit that it was her daring that occasionally made me withdraw, all due to a healthy dose of fear. Back then, the world outside our parent’s gaze was dangerous enough without adding the excitement of the world’s conflicts. My concerns of an early demise, from one of our adventurous outings to the playground, were eventually pacified. It was due to my moving to another part of town when my mother became pregnant with my brother, our family needed space to grow. We drifted apart, Lana and I, but I held our adventures close to my heart -even if my participation was small.

My capacity for adventure as a teenager was fulfilled by wearing a skirt that came just above my knees. The discovery of my own flesh as I entered puberty was both awkward and empowering. I had grown into more mature clothing befitting a young woman that wasn’t a woman yet. This transformation was both exciting and terrifying. It felt like putting on a sign that warranted the attention of boys, men and perverts. I’ll admit that there was a part of me that wanted the attention, wanted validation, wanted… to be wanted. Yes, I wanted to be the recipient of love just like the characters in the young adult books that I read. I just didn’t know whose attention I wanted… There wasn’t a knight in shining armor, at least not in my high school. In fact the opposite gender held no appeal to me for reasons that illuded me. Everyone in my friend group had a boyfriend or at least a crush. I was called stuck up for turning down every boy that failed to move me to giggling fits. I remain reserved and there was a part of me that wanted to withdraw from myself and everyone around me. I feared the confusing changes that I experienced alone in my own head. I would wonder what was wrong with me, though I would never admit it out loud. I was a fraud that didn’t know who to deceive. Would it be the boys that objectified me or the girls that declared petty titles unto me? Would anyone know the real me? Hell, would I know myself? I would often think about the time when young Lana shouted into the air that she was a conquerer and that I would always be a damsel in distressed. A statement I would think about whenever I felt helpless, it stayed with me forever. In distress.

Lana’s start to puberty was different, she discovered cargo pants and tactical boots, similar to that of her all-boy friend circle. She preferred her clothing baggy, to hide the shape of her body from the world that she desperately wanted to conquer - using only the brawn of her mind as her weapon of choice. She kept her hair long though, I envied its strawberry tones mixed within its brunette hues. The loose curls that are only made possible by using a curling iron, it showed evidence of girly vanity. She didn’t care for the company of other girls then, I assumed including myself, for reasons that were only speculated by teenagers. I looked at her and questioned her approach towards social acceptance, or lack there of. What teenage girl didn’t have a single girlfriend to share stories and clothes with? She illuded me to point of audacity, who had my childhood friend become? One day I went up to her without a clue of what I would say, I just felt compelled to interact with her. Perhaps I was so concerned by her lack of female friends that I took it upon myself to be that companion, to be her girlfriend. I only cared about reaching out to her as we once had.. the damsel addressing the conquerer. “Hi stranger!” But the words never left my mouth, I simply stood there, studying her as if she were my favorite subject. The lesson that I learned that day was that an oddity can become so alluring that it will consume your thoughts. Just as she had.

The summer after my senior year, I was lost in self-discovery. My click of friends had dispersed, some coupling together and staying linked at the hip while others found new clicks that made bad decisions at 3:00am in bars dowtown. I chose to fade into the background. We were no longer obligated to one another to survive our academic bubble. The real world had presented itself and it wanted action. I had not made any decisions for what college I wanted to attend. It didn’t help that I was undecided on what I even wanted to do in life. This feeling of unknowing fit into my life like a reoccurring theme to a play. I was the star that didn’t know her lines, but knew I was the damsel. I still wanted to be wanted, I still didn’t know who I wanted to want me and I still thought of Lana. I often thought, what would become of the conquerer now that she was unbridled and free as an adult? She was the enigma that stood against so many of the social norms that I hid behind. Fortunately, I would have the opportunity to get the answers that I craved during an open house at our local community college. It was an affordable option to finish minor classes before transferring to a university. It also bought me enough time to figure out what I wanted to do while living with my parents rent-free. They were understandably becoming concerned about all of my uncertainties but showed their support nonetheless.

It was raining that day so I wore a bright yellow dress with pockets, black flats, and my chunky jewelry with a designer bag that was given to me as a graduation gift. I was determined to have some brightness on that dreary day. To be honest, I remember this outfit so vividly because it caught her attention in a crowded auditorium. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine on a rainy day.” She was wearing black fitted jeans, a loose shirt with a Buddha on it and worn out converse, her luscious hair sat in a messy bun atop her head. “I’m just trying to be optimistic.” I regretted the words, optimistic about what? Rain? She brushed it off with an awkwardly forced laugh. Then something happened that I yearned for since high school. I was given the chance to redo the moment when I couldn’t find any words to say to her in high school. We talked about the college and campus, both of us expressing uncertainty about what major we would pursue. I remarked on her shirt and asked if she was spiritual. The dread that overcame following that statement was immense. Was that too personal? “Ah” she breathed, its a friend of mine. The beads on my intended shirt lost the battle to the dryer.” She put her hands in her pockets and nodded her head. “I like beads.” What was wrong with me? Now I sound like a child announcing things at arts and crafts time. I could tell the conversation was running dry when our eye contact started to wonder “We should get coffee! That’s what college students do, right?” To my delight she agreed. Why was I so happy to have her attention? The walk to the coffee shop felt like clip from one of the books: “The rain fell on them like a shower of gifts from the gods. It washed away the crowds and left the world barren with the exception of the two of them. They didn’t mind the weight of their clothes becoming heavy with water for their hearts were light.”

In the coffee shop, we talked about our high school experiences. She would tell me about what it was like to be one of the boys and being immune to the culture of mean girls and gossip. I found it… her, fascinating. I placed myself into the culture she reprimanded as a way of survival. I was friends with all the girls that were considered to popular. I was part of the “it” crowd that no longer exists. Hearing her tell the truth about us was both eye opening and hurtful. Did I really make others self-conscious and did I hurt the feelings of other girls by rejecting the boys that theyadored? She would laugh about things that I thought were grotesque, fart jokes and nut checking. About how she was immune to the nut checking and reigned supreme because of it. She reigned supreme? How like her, rambunctious and wild. “I’m sorry that we lost touch.” I expressed as though I was in trouble for it. She looked down to her thumbs that were tumbling over each other. ‘I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me because… well of the girls you just trash talked.” I forced a laugh but it stung, I had unknowingly pushed away someone that ignites my interest. What could have been had I expanded outside of my secluded social circle? She looked up from her thumbs “I felt like they would have treated you differently had I approached you. I am the scary lesbian after all..” The rain must have turned into a thunderstorm as a bolt of lightning jolted through my body at the word, lesbian.

I had heard the cruel jokes in passing about Lana. I didn’t pay attention to them though, I wasn’t one for gossip or the needless aggressions of my peers. Not like the girls of that time. I think because I wanted to preserve her as how she was when we were young. Hearing this word fall from her lips made something inside me bubble up, my inner truth. “How do you know your’re a lesbian though?” She licked her lips, the same ones that unleashed the powerful word. Why was I so focused on her lips? “Well, because I find women like you to be beautiful.” It was in that moment that I made the color red turn pale as Christmas snow, my face was flushed and my heart raced as if this was the first compliment I’d ever received. “I hope that’s okay to say, I can leave..” she started to stand up from the table “No!” I grabbed her hand, it was surprisingly soft and warm, she was sweating. “I mean, stay for a moment longer?” The blood had began to fade from my face and back to the rest of my body. To my racing heart’s relief she sat back down, “I always thought that you were beautiful and helpless.” The statement made me fall back in my seat. “Helpless?” She leaned forward, closing what felt like a mile into an inch. “Like the damsel in distress that I said you were all those years ago. A lady in need of rescuing, and I always wanted to be that person to gallantly sweep you off your feet.” Was this who I was wanting to want me? Everything about me was drawn to her. She wanted me. And I wanted…